


Time Transfixed

by airy_nothing



Category: Glee
Genre: 4x19, Character Study, Episode Related, Gen, Sweet Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airy_nothing/pseuds/airy_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tina gets ready for school, the first morning of her new steampunk look. 4x19 reaction drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Transfixed

The braids alone take almost an hour to pin into place. 

As Tina combs wet strands and forms them into more plaits, she’s reminded of Princess Leia and Cloud City—of a dinner meant for friends that turned quickly to locked doors and no way out. 

She can’t recall the last time it’s taken so long to get ready for school. Or the last time there were so many  _details_  to attend to. It’s a bit much.

There are thigh stockings and belts and buckles. A brooch and a feathered hat. Everything is cinched  _tight—_ which is a weird feeling after the simple shifts she’s become used to wearing, of cool fabric that slips right over her curves. 

Standing in front of her bedroom’s full-length mirror, she’s struck by other differences too.  _Brown_ , for one. When she’d brought home these pieces she’d noted how they formed a new, drab section of her closet, so different from the bright colors hanging elsewhere. The Mondrian print, the green poppies. The bold reds and blues. 

There is no time for breakfast this morning, since it takes so long to secure the hat; it feels like it’s hovering over her head, like it’s not quite a part of her. It’s a bowler hat,  _a Magritte hat,_ she thinks, recalling an image of a man in a dark suit, of a green apple hiding his face. 

Finally ready, Tina takes in her reflection, notes how carefully she’s constructed herself. She tries a smile but it doesn’t seem quite  _right_  for steampunk, or maybe it’s just not right yet on her. 

She grabs her bag, Magritte still on her mind, and this time her memory lingers on a painting of a fireplace, and a clock on a mantle, and a steam locomotive puffing smoke. It has the appearance of motion, even as it’s lodged in the wall, in an empty room where nobody gathers—or waits, or keeps track of the time. 


End file.
